


Dream Home

by Deifire



Series: Eerie Advent Calendar Challenge [27]
Category: Eerie Indiana
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 05:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deifire/pseuds/Deifire
Summary: Dash rolls his eyes. When he's that rich—and oh, does he fully plan to be that rich—he's never going to waste a room that big on just books.





	Dream Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "dreams" in the 2017 Eerie Advent Challenge.

Dash shuts the fridge and turns back to the bedroom-slash-living room of his tiny apartment. 

Dammit.

He didn't authorize a slumber party, but they're already asleep in front of the rolling movie credits, so he guesses they're spending the night here. 

Marshall's sprawled out all over Dash's mattress, and Simon appears to have passed out in the act of reaching for a sixth helping of pizza. Or is it a seventh? At any rate, the kid's getting expensive to feed. Dash can't remember if Marshall ate like he was starving at that age, too. His memories of himself around that time aren't really comparable, since aside from the whole possibly-alien biology thing, he's never been sure of exactly how old he was back then and also spent most of those early days equally unsure of where his next meal was coming from.

He sighs, snatches one of the blankets off Marshall and drapes it over Simon, taking the slice of pizza out of his hand and throwing it in the open box. Then he takes the extra pillow and tucks it under Simon's head. He'll steal the one Marshall's using when the time comes.

He sits down on the only corner of the mattress Marshall's left him, locates the remote, and switches the TV input as he takes a drink. The image onscreen changes to one of his many pirated cable channels. It's the sort of program where the host interviews celebrities while taking tours of their ridiculously large homes. The guy this week—Dash vaguely recognizes him as the musician Tod McNulty blames for ruining the entire cowpunk genre—is in the process of showing off his two-story personal library.

Dash rolls his eyes. When he's that rich—and oh, does he fully plan to be that rich—he's never going to waste a room that big on just books. 

Or on second thought, he considers as he looks over at Marshall, maybe he will. Maybe he'll fill it with every rare occult tome and record of obscure folklore he can buy and refuse to let Marshall inside. He smiles to himself. Well, not unless he asks _very_ nicely.

That won't be the biggest room in the entire house, though. The biggest will be…wait, does a garage count as a room? Because he's definitely going to need a huge one to house all the cars he's buying: the Rolls and the Benz and the DeLorean…okay, maybe not a DeLorean. Maybe something like the '63 Corvette Marshall was drooling over at that one car show, except not possessed. Also, Marshall won't be allowed to so much as breathe on it. In fact, that should probably be a blanket rule from now on: Marshall's not allowed to touch any vehicle Dash owns. 

_Sorry, Slick,_ he thinks, _it's the lifelong price you pay for being anal retentive about speed limits except when_ you're _driving and think you have a good paranormal reason for breaking 'em._

He's buying Simon a motorcycle, though. He can afford to be generous, and god knows the kid deserves one.

No, aside from the garage, the biggest room will be…Dash realizes he's not sure. Maybe he'll take a huge room and fill it with enough video games to create his own personal arcade. Simon'll like that. Or maybe he'll have a banquet hall big enough to host his own army. He smiles again. Marshall would have a fit at the mere thought of Dash with his own army, but when he's rich enough and famous enough, he'll have staff and a personal entourage, and that'll basically amount to the same thing.

Without any frustrating corn-shaped mind control hats he can't get to function, even.

He'll have a heated indoor swimming pool that'll spend most of its days filled with beautiful people. And maybe an outdoor one, too. Why not? And a huge bedroom—no, a suite of rooms—with a bed too big for even Marshall to hog. He should get Marshall his own room, too, probably. Give him some place to retreat and a door to slam when they're fighting.

And Simon will need a room, because as soon as he can help it, Dash is making sure he never has to spend another night at his parents' ever again. Maybe yet another room for that little brother of his.

So then there'll have to be an attic to house the weird crap they'll no doubt be dragging home every week. Maybe _that's_ the biggest room in the whole house. It'll probably have to be, Dash considers, picturing the amount of evidence that's already overflowing the Tellers' and mentally multiplying that over the course of a human lifetime. 

Not that he's going to be joining them on their paranormal quest. No, he's going to be way too busy if he's going to be making enough to…

"What's wrong?"

Dash jumps, spilling some of his beer in the process, and swears under his breath. He looks over into Marshall's now wide-open blue eyes. He's woken up somewhere in the past few minutes, while Dash has been no longer even plausibly staring at the TV, but somewhere off into space.

"Nothing," he says, picking up the remote and switching off the screen. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Making money."

Marshall snorts. "Figures."

Dash shoves him, not roughly, but enough to create room so he can crawl into bed. He curls around Marshall and settles his head on his chest in lieu of a pillow. "Just for that, you're banned from the Jacuzzi for life, too," he murmurs.

"Huh?" is Marshall's sleepy reply.

But Dash doesn't answer. He's already closed his eyes and is picturing what he'll do with the rest of the grounds.

Maybe he'll get Simon an exotic cryptid enclosure.


End file.
